


Prouvcare

by mangomilkshake



Series: Friendship 101 ft. The Les Amis de l’ABC [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Jehan/Bahorel if you squint, Modern Era, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangomilkshake/pseuds/mangomilkshake
Summary: “That's it. You are in serious need of some Prouvcare.”“Prou- what?”“Prouvcare,” they grinned toothily at their own pun, “A service provided by yours truly when one of my near and dear friends has neglected to care for themselves.”
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire, Enjolras & Jean Prouvaire
Series: Friendship 101 ft. The Les Amis de l’ABC [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579984
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Prouvcare

“This simply will not do.”

Enjolras cracked an eye open to blearily squint at the source of the stern voice. It was rare that Jehan adopted this tone, and for a moment he was left to wonder what it was that he’d done so terribly wrong to deserve the poet’s scolding. 

“What won’t do?” he rasped, peeling his cheek off of his desk, which he supposed he must have dozed off on last night. The furniture in question was littered with various papers, all covered in Enjolras’ spidery scrawl. 

“You worked yourself to death, babes. And then worked some more. Sleep isn’t a capitalist regime, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Enjolras huffed, rubbing an eye with his knuckles and sifting through the papers with his other hand, “But this is due next week. How did you get into my apartment?”

“Courfeyrac,” Jehan supplied, shaking their head in mild disbelief at the excuse, “You wouldn’t answer anyone’s calls. You were presumed dead.”

Enjolras shrugged lightly, feeling a twinge of guilt. 

“That's it. You are in serious need of some Prouvcare.”

“Prou- what?” 

“Prouvcare,” they grinned toothily at their own pun, “A service provided by yours truly when one of my near and dear friends has neglected to care for themselves.”

“I haven’t neglected myself,” Enjolras protested, though with little conviction. Jehan raised an eyebrow and extended a hand to their friend, who elected to stare at it blankly. 

“Where are we going?” he inquired, after accepting the hand and allowing himself to be dragged to the door. 

“My apartment.”

“Why are we-“ At Jehan’s exasperated eye roll, Enjolras hastened to correct himself, “Sorry, right. ‘Prouvcare’. But what exactly does that entail?” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

With the occasional murmur of complaint, the student reluctantly abandoned last night’s efforts to slip on his shoes and follow his friend out of his stuffy room. Enjolras winced as sunlight pierced his retinas, earning himself a tut from Jehan as they tossed car keys from one hand to another. 

“When was the last time you stepped outside, Enj?” 

“I- I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, raising an arm to shield his face, “Two or three days ago, maybe?” 

Jehan sucked in through their teeth and turned away from Enjolras to open the passenger door, gesturing for him to get in. 

“That’s not healthy.”

“I know, but-“ 

“Next time Combeferre is away, you call me or Courf, ok? Any of us, actually. How much have you been eating?” 

Enjolras was surprised to feel guilt pool at the bottom of his stomach. He hadn’t given much thought to his friends, or how concerned they would be regarding his temporary disappearance from the outside world. 

“Um, I’ve had some cereal?” 

His door was slammed shut, and a moment later Jehan slid into the seat beside him, closing their own door as they did so. After a second of pensive silence, they reached over Enjolras to flip down the sun visor and turned to mirror towards him. 

“Look at yourself for a moment, babes. No offence, but you’d make a very convincing corpse. Grantaire might be able to pull off the whole starving artist thing, but you certainly do not.”

A single glance told Enjolras that his friend was unfortunately correct. His pallid face was just shy of appearing gaunt, and the bags that had developed under his piercing yet weary eyes were a clear indication of many a sleepless night. Blonde hair fell over his shoulders in an unkempt mess, still mussed up from the impromptu nap on his desk. 

“Yikes,” he muttered, flipping the mirror up and out of sight. 

“Yikes indeed,” Jehan echoed in agreement as they started the car. 

The drive was short, but not at all done so in silence. Jehan babbled cheerily about the various antics of their friends, and any events that had occurred in the past week that Enjolras may have missed. It felt like he had been underground for several months, rather than holed up in his room for a few days. 

They arrived at Jehan’s place just as they were recounting how Gavroche had successfully stolen Cosette’s hairbrush in order to bribe Marius, and that his sister had grounded him for life. Most were convinced that Courfeyrac had put him up to it. 

“Oh, and remember when ‘Chetta made those blueberry and lemon muffins about a month ago? She made another batch yesterday, and if you’re lucky, I can weasel my way into getting one for you, if Bossuet hasn’t devoured them all.”

Enjolras nodded mutely, trailing behind Jehan as they opened the door. 

“Take your shoes off please, darling. Bahorel already drives me mental, walking all over my lovely carpet after he’s been for a jog,” they called over their shoulder, not without fondness. He obeyed, padding through the hallway in sock-clad feet. 

On several occasions Enjolras had visited, but the only time in which he had stayed for an elongated period was when it was Jehan’s turn to host the monthly movie night. Despite the fact that Bahorel also resided in the apartment, it had been well and truly Jehanified. 

Candles and plants held in brightly coloured pots — many of which Enjolras recognised to be Feuilly’s work — were clustered together on every available surface. He brushed past several wall hangings that were likely woven by Jehan themself, before a new addition at the end of the hallway caught his eye. 

It was a painting of the Musain around dusk that certainly hadn’t been there during the movie night (or perhaps it was? Enjolras admittedly hadn’t been paying much attention to the interior decor), capturing the warm glow that emanated from the windows and blossomed throughout the darkness. The glare of the setting sun had been translated into loose strokes of paint, and it wouldn’t have been difficult to believe that if Enjolras reached out and touched the wet flagstones, he would have felt the rain beneath his fingertips. 

“Do you like it? Grantaire painted it a few weeks back, and he wasn’t doing anything with it, so I asked if I could hang it up in here.”

Jehan was leant against the kitchen door frame lazily, smiling as Enjolras’ eyes flitted over the artwork. 

“It’s...really nice, actually.”

“Bloody brilliant is what it is,” they grinned, “R’s talent with a brush never ceases to impress me. Now, come here.” 

Enjolras obliged, following Jehan as they beckoned him into a cosy kitchen.   
“It’s a bit of a squeeze,” the poet admitted as they pottered around, filling up the kettle, “Hence why Baz and I never cook together. That and the fact that it would be a total disaster.”

The student felt a smile edging its way across his cheeks. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I reckon you could last at least ten minutes before one of you caught fire,” he deadpanned, earning himself a scandalised gasp from Jehan. 

“Hush, you. Now, please eat something.” They pushed a plate of leftover casserole towards him meaningfully, “And stay put.”

Before Enjolras could ask why exactly, Jehan had pressed a kiss to his forehead and strode past him. He listened as their footsteps gradually decreased in volume, before stopping altogether. To Enjolras’ surprise, it seemed that Jehan had turned on a tap, as the apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of running water. Accompanying this was the poet’s muffled humming as they occasionally padded across what he assumed was the bathroom floor. 

After Enjolras had finished wolfing down the casserole, he succeeded in ‘staying put’ for approximately six minutes, at which point his curiosity got the better of him. 

He had the decency to look sheepish as he peeked inside the bathroom, which he was right to assume was the source of the noise. Jehan huffed and turned away from the bathtub to mock glare at him, which momentarily distracted Enjolras from the impressive mound of bubbles and various candles behind them.

“Do you ever do what you’ve been told?” 

“Sometimes, if it doesn’t involve sitting alone doing nothing while my friend acts like a cryptic.”

Jehan snorted and waved a shampoo bottle threateningly in his direction.   
“You and I both know Feuilly is the real cryptic,” 

“My mistake. What’s this for, exactly?” Enjolras gestured towards the bath, which he now realised was the cause of a pleasant floral aroma wafting through the room. 

“It’s for you. Prouvcare, remember?” 

“You want me to have a bath?” 

Jehan shrugged. 

“It’s entirely up to you. I’ll turn around while you’re changing, of course, and there’s enough bubbles in there to bury a person, but if you’re not comfortable with it, I understand.”

Enjolras nodded slowly as they leaned over to stop the tap.   
“It sounds wonderful, but...why?” 

“I started doing it for Bahorel when he would come back from the gym sometimes. He must have let it slip to Joly, because he approached me and asked if I could run one of my ‘special Jehan baths’ because his leg had been particularly bad at the time. After that, well, every time anyone needed a little TLC, I’d run them a bath and add a concoction of my products to it. Thus, Prouvcare was born.”

For a moment, Enjolras seemed to ponder this.   
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an absolute angel, Jehan?” 

In the light of the candles, they positively glowed at the compliment.   
“On the daily,” they replied cheerily, face splitting into a broad smile, “Now, would you like me to turn around or not?” 

As he peeled off his clothing with a grimace, Enjolras had to admit that his situation hadn’t exactly been ideal. When had he last changed clothes? Hell, when had he washed himself? He wasn’t entirely sure, and the more he thought about it, the more revolted he became. 

With a sigh, he dipped his toe into the lavender-coloured water experimentally and hissed at the heat. Ignoring Jehan’s chuckle, Enjolras gritted his teeth and stepped into the tub entirely. It wasn’t actually that hot, he just hadn’t acclimatised to the feeling quite yet. Fortunately, after a moment of standing awkwardly in the water, wiggling his feet, he figured it was safe to sit down. 

Now fully submerged, Enjolras realised that his friend had been correct; he almost completely disappeared beneath the bubbles, with only his face and unruly curls in view. And God, did it feel wonderful. He made a mental note to hug Jehan as soon as they were physically available. 

“Ok, you can turn back around now.”

They did just that, a bubble of laughter escaping their lips at the sight of Enjolras smothered in a mass of bubbles that threatened to spill over the edges of the bath at every tiny movement. 

“Oh dear,” Jehan giggled, “Are you alright?” 

“Brilliant, actually. Thanks for…you know...everything, actually.” 

Enjolras trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his level of gratitude, but his friends’ eyes twinkled in understanding as they took a seat on a wicker chair beside the bathtub.

“It’s nothing. Now, we can just talk if you want, but I do require criticism on this little poetry piece that just came to me the other day. Unless you want me to read? Combeferre likes me to read to him when-“ 

“You’ve done this with Combeferre?”

“Oh yes. Nearly everyone in our friend group has experienced Prouvcare at least once, my most regular attendees being Joly and Grantaire, if we’re not counting Bahorel that is. If I’m honest, I’m not sure how you’ve escaped my notice until now.”

“Probably because it wasn’t a big deal,” Enjolras mumbled, “I just overworked myself a tiny bit.”

Jehan snorted. 

“I’ll be the judge of whether it was a big deal or not. The verdict? Yes, you festered in your room for several days without contacting any of us. Your sentence? Death by bubbles.” 

Enjolras laughed, causing a slightly alarming coughing fit after accidentally inhaling a chunk of bubbles. This set Jehan off, until both friends were wheezing, either with mirth or an attempt to dislodge the soap from one’s throat. 

“I was joking don’t- don’t actually die via bubbles. Lord, what a way to go.”

Enjolras gave them a weak grin.  
“I’ll try my best.”

They talked, mostly, until he was persuaded into listening to Jehan’s latest sonnet. Not that Enjolras was complaining; the poet’s creations were always lyrical masterpieces. He provided his honest feedback, and their grateful smile grew a fraction wider with every positive word. 

“Oh!” Jehan exclaimed halfway through Enjolras’ analysis of the enjambment in the third and fourth line, “The water in the kettle will be cold now, I’ll have to boil it again. Meanwhile, you get out and dry yourself, or you’ll turn into a prune,” 

He stuck his tongue out, but Jehan was already halfway out the door. With caution, Enjolras lifted himself out of the water and stepped gently onto the bath mat, before grabbing a random towel from the rack. Some were plain white, but the one he had chosen was decorated in a blue floral pattern, and was pleasantly soft on his priorly drenched skin. 

Enjolras dried himself thoroughly and pondered on what to do next. He couldn’t exactly put on his clothes from earlier. Fortunately, he needn’t worry, as Jehan (bless their soul) had clearly thought ahead — one of their own pairs of pyjamas was neatly folded on the chair. 

With a smile, he slipped on the set and examined himself in the full length mirror. Jehan was slightly taller than him, so the sleeves and trouser legs were a little long, but the material was clean and comforting. The pjs themselves were a pastel pink, with a cloud embroidered on the pocket of the shirt. 

Satisfied, Enjolras blew out the candles and snuck out of the bathroom, nearly losing the way to the kitchen in the process. When he finally arrived, Jehan was stirring a mug of hot chocolate and humming a vague tune. 

“The fearsome Enjolras makes his appearance,” they commented without turning around. He raised an eyebrow at Jehan’s back, but swiftly changed his expression to impassive as a steaming mug was thrust into his hands. 

“Let’s watch something.” Jehan steered Enjolras out of the kitchen and onto a well worn sofa. Taking a sip of their own hot chocolate, they wrinkled their nose as the liquid scorched their tongue and set down the mug on a small wooden side table beside a cactus (Enjolras silently hoped that they would not make the mistake of grabbing the wrong one in the near future). 

He shrugged as he was bundled into a brightly coloured blanket.   
“I’ll watch whatever. None of your trashy romances.” 

“I take great offence to that.” 

Jehan slipped out of the room momentarily and left a now fully burritoed Enjolras to decide upon a film. They returned with a hairbrush and collapsed beside their friend, who was frowning at the television indecisively. 

“Come here and let me braid your hair,” 

Enjolras did not object, and soon their hands were running over his scalp soothingly as they gently untangled his damp locks. The tv provided a lulling background noise and it took a considerable amount of effort on his part not to doze off. 

“Jehan?” Enjolras ventured, allowing his eyelids to fall shut. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you,” 

He couldn’t see the poet’s reaction, but he could visualise their warm smile in his mind’s eye. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Jehan pressed a kiss to his head and continued brushing, beginning to hum another quiet tune as they did so. 

Enjolras’ final thought in that very moment, as he allowed himself to slip into sleep, was how grateful he was for his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this after indulging myself in a bubble bath the other day? Perhaps.   
> In all seriousness, I hope you enjoyed this little thing I wrote because I felt like writing about my favourite emotional support Jehan :)


End file.
